We’re home from the rodeo, and I’m proud to say we’ve returned having won rodeo experience, new friends, a belt buckle for chute dogging, and a pulled abdominal muscle. I don’t know what was best about the weekend: the competition itself, hearing the announcer wish Sam happy birthday both days, or hearing him say “the Page boys are married… the family that rodeos together stays together.”

It’s 110 degrees and I’m in a chute which is about 3′ x 8′, next to a steer that weighs around 600 lbs. I’ve been standing there for about five minutes, watching Sam in the previous chute. I’m calming the animal, and positioning his rump to the back corner of the chute while I calmly ask myself, “What the hell am I doing here?” I wonder how I got myself into this, kind of replaying the whole thing: the mechanical bull, Sonny, Sam, Rodeo School in Phoenix, Palm Springs, and now Los Angeles, and I still can’t believe it. It’s not until the chute attendant tells me, “The arena is ready,” that I reach down and take hold of the animal and become keenly aware that I’m being watched by my competitors – a lot of great cowboys and cowgirls. My safety (Sonny) talks me through my prep and keeps me focused and calm. The chute attendant asks me how I’ll tell him (or her) to open the chute. Some cowboys nod, some say ‘go’, some do both. I say ‘go’ and he opens the chute. Continue reading ‘Git ‘er Done: Chute Dogging in the L.A. Rodeo’

Hey y’all. We’re rodeo-bound this weekend, and I’m most excited about the fact that Sam and I are competing as a team for the first time. We’re going to be posting pics and stories from the road, so stay tuned. If you want to come out and see it all live, it’s a blast, and worth the drive. Here are the whens, wheres, and hows. See y’all there.

The ice on my ankle for a few hours sure did make the difference the next morning, when we cowboyed up and headed back out to Banning for the second day of events. Driving in the car, I started to feel all of the little muscles here and there that were sore, and I got a real appreciation for the athleticism of rodeo, after all it is a sport, no matter how well-dressed. I made mental notes about how I might train in the coming weeks for the rodeo in L.A. Continue reading ‘Palm Springs Rodeo: Chute Doggin’, Second Go’

Sonny Koerner is the randy cowboy who approached us at the L.A. Gay Rodeo in 2006, if you recall the original story. Here I thought I he was recognizing my natural talent for bullriding, and… well, you’ll see. Anyway, Sonny is the first real rodeo cowboy Sam and I ever met. He’s an inspiration to anyone involved in rodeo at any level, certainly, and as it turns out, he’s a real sweetheart. We’re lucky to have crossed paths with him again, and grateful to count him among our friends. Here’s the interview.

We landed in Phoenix at 10pm, with only the clothes on our backs and a small bag containing cameras, deodorant, chewing gum, and two DC comic books. We bought toothbrushes at a 7-11. In contrast to the choked freeways and side streets of Los Angeles, Phoenix roads are a dream: broad and mostly empty – as if they’re expecting a bigger turnout – and they connect adventurers to the vast, emotionless grid of strip malls and stucco-walled subdivisions, barren of any real landmarks, that is Phoenix, Chandler, and Mesa, Arizona.

We navigated the grid for about an hour before we found the little rundown area on the edge of Guadeloupe: home to the ‘neon’ motels and specifically, the Aloha Motel, wiped clean of all of its tiki motel-era details over the decades but still seedy enough to give us that rodeo authenticity we were after. The man at the front desk did a double take when we two strapping cowboys asked for a king-sized bed. The room was large and clean, and nothing says “welcome home” like slightly pink wood paneling, faded fake florals, and a filthy yellow flyswatter. We settled in for a restless night. Continue reading ‘Rodeo Chute Dogging: Bronson Wrestles a 700lb. Steer’

Sam and I are going to rodeo school in Chandler, AZ in two weeks, to learn chute dogging. We’re going with the clothes on our backs, our rough stock gear, and some supplies in a duffel bag. We need boots. Size 13 for Sam, and 11 for me. Ropers, which means a lower heel and a more rounded toe. We’ll be trying to find those this week. I’ll probably just roll the dice on some cheap, used boots from eBay. Once we’re in Phoenix, we’ve got a car rented – for $10 – some econo-box Kia or something, because there wasn’t any place to rent old pickups. If it weren’t illegal to hitchhike (the 11 miles from the airport to the center of Chandler), we would, just for the fantasy of jumping into the back of some old man’s blue F250 and gettin’ a ride into town. We asked the rodeo school coordinator, Chuck, if there were any bunks in some stable loft or anything for us to crash in, but alack, there were none. So, in the absence of a bunkhouse, we’re hoping to find some old neon cowboy hotel right out of Thelma & Louise or Brokeback Mountain, and check in for sway-backed mattresses, snowy TV, and some good ol’ fashioned cowboy sex.